Blackstaff

As expected, a sword clattered harmlessly off his defenses. He entered the larger front room, finding three black-garbed men held fast by large stone tentacles, though only two of them had their arms pi

"Have the Black Blades fallen so far as to not expect magical defenses in a wizard's chambers? Now, tell me who hired you, or I'll ask the wall to squeeze." From behind him came a sound of rustling fabric.

Malek whirled around into a crouch, lightning scattering off his fingertips. The magical bolts crackled around him, striking and destroying the three darts coming from behind him. He faced his fourth attacker, and Malek smiled grimly. "I should have known it would be you, Varret." "Southern scum of an outlander, you slight me even now?

No wonder I chose to slay you instead of that hussy upstairs. I will have you address me properly before you die." The less-than-honorable Lord Varret Tryshaln, Count of the Xornmoor Riding, glared and grimaced at him, his pale skin flushed red enough to match his unkempt and thi

Put down your arms. Her Majesty's mercy is far warmer than mine, I pray, and I have no wish to fight your family over your death." "The only deaths today shall be yours and the Witch-Queen's, Tethyrian!"

Varret's face contorted with fury as he barked out an incantation that Malek had not encountered before. His curiosity slowed his counterspell, and he threw himself to one side to avoid the fiery dragon's jaws that lunged from Varret's cupped hands. The fire construct bit Malek's lower torso and legs, and he screamed as the fire burned him. His clothes caught on fire, though the leathers fared far better than his linen shirt. Despite the pain, Malek managed to thrust his left fist into the fire construct and scream, "Alakedarth!"

The fires pulled into the ring's gem, leaving only a shimmer in the air as the magic dissipated. "I'll add that ring to my wardrobe as Stornanter's new Court Wizard, Aldhanek," Varret promised as he moved closer and loomed over the prone Malek, his hands moving in intricate circles and his mouth muttering a new incantation. Still too pained to stand up, Malek grabbed the edge of the rug and yanked hard, tripping up Varret and ending his spell. "My turn, fool." Malek whispered, and he cast quickly. One of his simplest and newer spells, the magic touched the Weave of magic and the weave of Varret's clothing. The robes, cloak, and hood writhed and constricted on the wizard's body, making it hard for him to move or cast. Malek used the moments the spell bought him to pull the carpet the rest of the way from under Varret. As he rose, he kicked the mage in the stomach, knocking the wind from him and stopping his counterspell against the weaveweird.

Just as Malek suspected, Varret pla

The remaining pair swooped toward the throne and the downed queen. A pair of massive magical rams' heads materialized in front of them and knocked both traitors away from Laeral and into the walls. As one duplicate wove an occultrap around the stu

"Hang on, my queen," he said, but Laeral could only blink and her breath bubbled in her throat. She failed to see the tears streaming down Malek's face. "Stay with me, my lady. I swore to protect you, no matter the cost." Three glowing Maleks floated or walked to within arm's reach of the four wizard-nobles turned traitors and raised their arms as if to cast a spell. Both the masters and their servants saw the threats and fired spells and arrows or other weapons at the glowing figures. With deafening roars, the images exploded, unleashing all their absorbed magic onto their targets through eyebeams, open wounds, or blasts from their hands. With no time to check on his foes, the court wizard placed one hand on the throne and invoked its powers.

A crystalline griffon stood where the throne had been, its massive form and wings providing some cover for the two wizards at her feet.

With that action completed, Malek opened himself up to another working-one far more powerful, more intricate, and more personal.

Malek's fingers and eyes danced with silver licks of flame, and he incinerated the two daggers in Laeral's body. She screamed as the daggers dissolved, and she slumped in Malek's arms. "Laeral! Laeral!"

Malek heard someone barking orders and the twang of bowstrings behind him, but all that seemed miles away. His world was only the bloodied face in front of him, blurry through his own tears. Malek cradled Laeral's head in one palm and whispered to her, the silver flames in his eyes growing and flames creeping from his other hand into her wounds. "I loved you from the moment I first saw your face-three centuries before you were even born. I am yours, forever and always, through as many lifetimes as we may share. Ignore the poison, love.